The Birthday Wish
by ViVAdot
Summary: England gets piss drunk and accidentally casts a spell causing America and Canada to switch bodies. Hilarity may or may not ensue. No pairings, although there might be a smidge of CanadaxUkraine later on.
1. Chapter 1

It was a dark and stormy night that England spent the last hours of his birthday. A horrendous birthday, he might add. His usually neat and tidy home was disheveled mess from the party earlier, which France had _insisted _on throwing and America had _insisted _on helping clean up. Neither had gone as planned.

"Ok, so I bought you a cake on the way back from the airport," said America as he held up the bag containing his findings, "because, you know, I figured I'd better bring something back with me. It's weird they would cancel my flight for the weather, but all the shops would still be open. Imagine that!"

"Yes, it's rather shocking," mumbled England over a half drained bottle of whiskey. America's smile held strong.

"I was going to keep it for myself, but it's not as if we have anything else to do until tomorrow morning. You want a slice?" America asked, not bothering to sit down or even get too close to the drunken Brit. He only had to be smacked upside the head once to learn to keep his distance when England was drinking, although he had to admit that he was much more reserved than usual.

"Sure, whatever," England said, causing the American to shoot an anxious look at him.

"Hey, Artie, are you alright?" he asked.

"Of course I'm bloody alright!" he snapped, "Just get me that goddamn piece of cake already."

"Jesus, alright." America shuffled into the kitchen and wracked around for a good five minutes before appearing again with a generous slice of vanilla cake with colorful frosting. A lit candle was stuck in the top. England rolled his eyes.

"I already blew out the candles on the first cake," he said.

"Yeah, but this is a different cake," answered America in a singsong voice. England scoffed and, just as America was about to sit down, England said,

"Hey, put the kettle on the stove while you're up." America scowled, but complied.

"You're lucky it's your birthday," the younger nation mumbled.

"Yeah, and you're lucky I was willing to let your sorry arse stay here for the night," England growled, and then added quietly, "Out of every person who came here tonight I'm stuck with him." He flicked at the rainbow icing on his cake, the flame burning close to his eyes. Something crashed in the kitchen, causing England to flinch.

"Sorry, 'bout that!" America called, and England pinched the bridge of his nose. Out of all his former colonies, it had to be the one that irritated him the most. Why couldn't Matthew have offered first to stay after the party and help clean up? He would have at least balanced Alfred's chaos and unpleasantness. When was the last time he sat down and had a nice chat with Mathew?

America peered around the corner again from the kitchen, "I forgot how to make this type of tea, but I found some instant coffee instead. It kind of tastes like shit, but you like that stuff, right?" then he paused and laughed, "Whoa that totally came out wrong. Hey, you haven't blown your candle out yet."

"No, I guess not," England said quietly, throwing a glare at Alfred, who ignored it and went back into the kitchen. His eyes fell on the pathetic candle and he scoffed, thinking that he might as well humor the boy. Arthur leaned over the waxy, misshapen candle so closely that the flame quivered from his breath, "I wish Alfred wasn't here," he whispered to the fire and promptly extinguished it in one blow. What he didn't notice was Alfred standing behind the door frame with the coffee cups in hand.

"Heeey, sorry about the tea, Artie," he said with a faltering smile and set one of the mugs of the disgusting concoction on the table in front of the drunk man. Alfred raised his own mug slightly in a toast and Arthur shrugged.

"Cheers," said England, barely lifting his mug off the table. But before either could bother to clink their drinks, America's hand shook in a violent spasm and the mug clattered against the wooden table and onto the floor. England stood in disgust and shook the brown liquid off of his sleeves. "What the bloody hell was that?"

"I-I don't know…" Alfred trailed off and he leaned onto the table with one hand and clutched his head, wincing, with the other, "What the hell," he muttered weakly and England, suddenly bothering to care, inched toward him.

"Alfred, are you ok?" he asked. America tried to smile, but the effort disappeared when he doubled over and his glasses slid off his nose. His eyes glazed over and his grip on the table slackened. England barely had time to reach forward and catch the man before he smacked into the carpeted floor, "Oh God, Alfred! Can you hear me?"

No response.

Arthur lowered the unconscious Nation to the ground and looked around in a hurried daze. This was not good. There was no reason for this to happen to Alfred of all countries. This was the type of thing that happened during a crisis. He wasn't being attacked again, was he?

A terrible, regretful thought struck England and he slowly turned to the uneaten cake on the table. In the icing were crudely drawn runes no living human would be able to read.

"Oh, bollocks."

* * *

><p>Canada stared out the plane window and admired the beautiful sunset.<p>

"Wasn't that a nice party, Kilimanjaro?" he asked. Kumajirou curled in his lap, glanced at him and then went back to sleep. The woman sitting next to Canada eyed the two and the Nation smiled awkwardly. "He usually answers back," he said, in which the woman turned completely away from him and went back to listening to her iPod or whatever she was doing. Canada sighed and leaned back in his seat. Suddenly he felt very drowsy.

Suddenly he felt very sick.

"E-excuse me?" he said to the flight attendant, or anyone who happened to notice he asked for help. No one turned around.

He gripped into the armrest as a cold sweat wracked his body and a sharp, throbbing pain shot through his head like a bullet. Not even the woman next to him turned around until he slumped forward and smacked his head on the seat in front of him.

Even then, no one bothered to check right away if he was alright. Perhaps they assumed he had fallen asleep in an awkward position.

* * *

><p>I started this story so long ago that I don't even remember how I was going to end it lol. If anyone actually wants to read this then I'll more likely than not put forth a lot of time to writing and finishing this.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Everything was blurry.

Canada tried to pry his eyes open, but the light above him was too bright and he groaned in pain. Immediately, a pair of footsteps reverberated down the hallway toward him, wherever he was.

"Are you awake?" asked a man whom he immediately recognized to be England. He groaned again and England felt his forehead with the back of his hand. _This makes sense_, Canada thought: he must have collapsed on the plane and they had to turn around to bring him to the nearest hospital. Arthur must have heard about his situation and rushed to the hospital to make sure he was ok. "Alfred, I'm sorry-"

"No," he mumbled and refused to open his eyes. Ok, maybe that wasn't what happened. Stupid Alfred, ruining the only show of compassion England had shown for him in decades.

"Alfred, I'm sorry for what I said earlier."

"No," he said again and tried to push England's hand away.

"Alfred-"

"I'm not Alfred!" he snapped, eyes still closed. England fell into a grim silence for a few moments before Canada finally opened his eyes. Everything was still blurry. Since when had his vision been this bad?

"You're Mathew, aren't you?" England said with certainty, then got up and rubbed his face and sighed. "Oh God, I'd hoped this hadn't happened."

"That what hadn't happened?" Canada asked. He slowly sat himself up on the couch. Wait, why was he on a couch? "Arthur, why am I in your living room?"

"Alfr- Mathew, I'm going to tell you something very shocking and I'm going to need you to remain calm for me, alright?"

"Ok?"

"A few hours ago," he began, both his voice and demeanor strained, "A few hours ago, I was drunk while Alfred was here and might have… accidentally cast a spell." He paused and watched for Canada's reaction, which was otherwise unmoved. "And it might have caused you and Alfred tohaveswitchedplaces."

"What was that last part?" Canada asked. On the coffee table was a pair of rectangle rimmed glasses, which he grabbed despite recognizing as his brother's. His heart pounded, but he kept his eyes fixed on the spectacles and fumbled with the nose pads.

England sighed and rubbed his eyes again. "Mathew, there's a mirror in the foyer." Canada got up and walked into the hallway as if in a trance with England trailing close behind and adding, "This isn't permanent, by the way."

Canada moved to the mirror; a small, ornate one that hung on the side of the wood paneling of the staircase. The image was blurry and he slipped the glasses on, heart hammering in his chest and a thousand thoughts racing through his mind, the most prominent being the most impossible.

A pair of magnificent blue eyes half hidden behind mussed, short blond hair startled him and he backed away from the reflection at first, and then moved forward again. His facial features were more defined, although accompanying that were premature stress and laugh lines.

He was looking at his brother.

"I swear it isn't permanent!"

* * *

><p>Antiseptics.<p>

America all but flew out of the bed as he sat up straight and looked around. Yeah, definitely a hospital. They even hooked him to one of those beeping things, which seemed to read that everything functioned normally. But he couldn't help but feel a rising dread in his stomach and chest. The last time he was admitted to a hospital was after 9/11.

"Oh, good. You're awake," a pretty nurse walked into his room with a clipboard and America smiled, a gesture the woman returned. She flipped through the papers on her plastic clipboard and tapped her pen against it, "How do you feel, Mr. Williams?" His smile disappeared.

"Mr. Williams?" he repeated the name as if it were an insult, "Where'd you get that name? I'm Alfred Jones. And why the hell am I in a hospital?"

"The ID in your luggage and on your ticket receipt said Mathew Williams," said the nurse as she flipped through her clipboard papers again, "It says here that you collapsed sometime between five thirty and seven on your flight from London."

America narrowed his eyes. "I don't remember getting on a plane," he said, "And I'm sure as hell not Mathew Williams." The nurse, unfazed by his glare, looked over her shoulder to make sure there was no one near the door.

"Mr. Williams, we've contacted the Prime Minister and he said he's sent for someone to pick you up," she whispered.

"Lady, I'm not Canada," he snapped. The woman shrugged and looked away.

"I'm just delivering the message," she said.

"I'm America," he said flatly, in which the nurse raised her eyebrows.

"I think I would recognize my own Nation." The nurse left the room and closed the door. America didn't move. It felt as though his heart was beating in his throat.

To his right was a chair pushed against the bed. Curled up and asleep in the chair was a small polar bear. America threw the linen sheet off of him and stood, ripping the IV out of his arm in the process. He gave the bear a scrutinizing look. "You're Mattie's dog thing," he said to the animal. A small, nervous smile broke out on his face. "So Mattie must be here somewhere, right?"

The bear, of course did not respond, but that didn't faze America. "That explains why the nurse thought I was Mattie, right? I'm going for a walk." England would show up soon to tell him he poisoned his drink by accident or something. As for Canada collapsing on a plane, well, maybe he was in a nearby room. America ran his fingers through his hair, and then retracted them from the long and wavy mess.

No one stopped him as he plowed through the hallways in nothing but a patient's gown. In fact, no one seemed to notice him.

The bathroom was empty and he wasted no time running to the sink and the large mirror in front of it. America stiffened as soon as he caught his reflection and scrunched his eyes closed. _No, this isn't right_, he thought and, slowly, opened his eyes again. His reflection was still wrong: His eyes were too violet, his hair too long, and his body too thin. He touched his face, the skin suddenly feeling foreign to him. He looked like his terrified and weak brother and nothing like himself.

"I'm going to kill that limey," he muttered.

* * *

><p>Oh my gosh. I really didn't expect people to take an interest in this and all the sudden I have reviews and favorites and story watches and what have you and I'm just so happy lol. I just hope I don't let you guys down. I'm going to work on a loose outline for the story, but I'll try to have the next chapter by next weekend. Thanks again, y'all.<p>

This is irrelevant, but my headcanon is that Alfred went to a hospital after 9/11 because he had a panic attack and the government official who was with him at the time thought he was physically injured.

BTW Apologies for the issue with the line breaks in the last chapter. I don't know if the problem was with my laptop or the website, but I think I fixed it.


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh my god," Canada turned to England, "Oh my god!"

"Mathew, I'm going to need you to be calm."

"How am I supposed to be calm?" His voice raised an octave. "How did this happen?"

"I'll explain that in a moment, but first we need to find where Alfred is," said England. He fished his cell phone out of his pocket, ignored the dumbstruck face glaring at him, and asked, "Do you think I should try your phone?"

Canada crossed his arms and shrugged. "Sure, but he's in a hospital," he said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I was on the plane when I collapsed."

England made a sound of agreement. "What airport were you flying to?"

"JFK. New York," he answered and England immediately googled it on his Blackberry. Less than a minute later he punched in the number he found.

Canada walked back into the living room and plopped down on the couch. For a while, he didn't move, nor did he listen to the drone of England's voice in the other room. He looked down at his callused and scarred hands, his dirty and chipped fingernails. Nothing like his. Canada had his own battle wounds, but at least he had the decency to scrub his hands after working.

"They said he was admitted to a hospital, but they won't tell me which one." England stared at the screen as he walked in the living room. "Perhaps we should call your boss."

"Yeah, let's try that," Canada said, rubbing his hands together and pushing himself off the couch. He rocked on his heels (was it his shoes or feet that felt so strange?) as he called the number off to England, who took Canada's place on the couch when the dial tone began.

"Yes, Prime Minister Harper? This is Arthur Kirkland, representation of the United Kingdom- yes." England nodded out of habit. His eyebrows knitted together and his mouth fell into a scowl. "Yes, this is an emergency. I'm sure you've been notified of Mathew's situation- oh, ok." He made a face, "Could you tell me who is picking him up? Right. Right, of course. It's rather complicated at the moment, sir…" Another pause. "Right. We'll be on the first flight to the States… Oh, er, Alfred and I, I mean. Thank you, sir… Yes, goodbye." He dropped the phone on the couch and leaned back with a sigh.

"What happened?" Canada asked.

"He's somewhere in Alberta and won't be able to pick up Mat- er, Alfred personally. Ontario was near the border and decided to accompany whoever was sent to pick him up. And we need to leave soon for the airport. I'll pull together Alfred's things."

"Why didn't you tell Harper?"

"Because," England began, "we don't exactly have time at the moment to explain to the Prime Minister why his country has switched bodies with the United States of America." Canada bristled, but England continued, "And also because we should keep this a secret as long as we can."

"So you're saying that we should _not_ tell one of the few people that can help us about the thing we need help with." Canada barked a short, bitter laugh. "Sounds like a plan!"

"What I'm saying is that this won't be a problem long enough for anyone else to be worried with it," England snapped. He picked up a large piece of birthday cake sitting on the dining room table, regarded it with a disdainful sneer, and then headed to the kitchen with it. Canada heard the garbage lid open. "Now get in the car," England called, "We're going to the airport."

* * *

><p>"Sir, did you have permission to leave your room?"<p>

America only glanced at the male nurse who approached him as he stumbled out of the bathroom. He felt very dizzy all of the sudden. _I better not faint again._

"Nope," he mumbled. His head felt light and his heart thrummed in his chest. America took a long, shuddering intake of air… and exhaled.

The nurse watched with concern and more than a little annoyance, but waited patiently until America's eyes fluttered and his expression fell into calmness- Or at least the closest to calmness that he could possibly convey in such a situation.

"You're Mr. Williams, right?" the nurse asked.

"Sure," America shrugged.

"Your family is here to check you out," he said and walked away intending for the dazed patient to follow him, regardless of America's lack of shoes. Although America had to admit he was more than a little thankful to wear faded jeans and a sweatshirt and not (God forbid) a hospital gown.

America wracked his brain for possibly 'family'. All that came to mind were the Provinces, half of which America could regrettably not name. As he rounded the corner, a sense of relief washed over him as he saw a sharp, official looking man and a scruffy young man playing with a phone waiting at the front desk. _Oh thank God, it's Ontario._ He didn't bother hiding his smile. Not only did he recognize the Province, but he _knew him by name_!

Ontario smiled, and then went back to his phone. The secret service agent nodded at America and a pit formed in the Nation's stomach. Everyone thought he was Canada.

_Should I tell them?_ Each step he took toward the odd couple became heavy and awkward, although neither man seemed to notice.

"Hey, man. How're you feeling?" asked Ontario.

"Oh, better, I guess," America said with a slight smile, trying his best to imitate his brother.

Ontario's face broke out into a brilliant smile and he bounded next to America. "Man, I've gotta tell you what Quebec did while you were gone."

As Quebec talked, hands flying and expression animated, America was reminded why he remembered this Province so well.

* * *

><p>It was the worst flight Canada and England had ever endured. The Nations sat in seething silence for most of the trip; Canada was too angry and disoriented to hold a conversation with England, which did nothing for the Brit's conscience.<p>

"You can't blame this all on me," England said as he brought the luggage down from their compartment.

Canada shrugged and kept his face passive. "I never said I was mad at you, Arthur."

England handed a duffle bag to Canada and they left the plane single file. Responses like that made it easier for England to remember that it wasn't America speaking. In fact, in all the years he'd known Alfred, England had never seen the array of expressions Canada made with his brother's face. It was almost unnerving.

"Wait a minute," Canada said, "How are you sure that Al is still at the hospital? Wasn't someone sent for him?"

"Yes," answered England.

Canada came to a halt and glared at England with fierce intensity. "Then why the hell are we in the U.S.?" he hissed, "They could be halfway to the border by now. We could have beaten them there if we caught a different plane."

"I know."

"Arthur, what's going on?" Canada asked. His glare was replaced by a look of concern and fear. "There's more to this, isn't there?"

England continued to walk into the wave of people. From what he could hear, Canada was just barely able to keep up with him. By the time the two walked side by side, Canada fell back into silence. That deafening silence hung over the couple, but England refused to indulge in conversation. _Not now,_ he told himself, _For Mathew's sake._

Heavy clouds dappled the sky and the pavement was stained dark from a shower that passed over before their plane landed. England slid off his jacket in annoyance as he and Canada stepped through the double doors and out into Washington D.C. "How silly of me to assume it _wouldn't_ feel like a sauna in a northern city," he grumbled, "I don't know how Alfred deals with this. It's not even summer." Just as quickly as his face fell into a scowl, a grin appeared at the site of a young woman approaching. "You got my text, Virginia!"

"Well, duh." The woman offered a smile and a shrug. "I've been here almost an hour waiting for you guys." She walked straight to Canada and placed a freckled hand against his forehead. "Doesn't surprise me you caught something, what with the economy all crappy," she mumbled, "How do you feel, Al?"

"Oh, uh, a little better," said Canada. He pushed her hand away with and tried to give his cheesiest grin and thumbs-up. "A stupid cold isn't enough to beat me down."

"Uncle Artie was right. You sound terrible." Virginia cupped her hand over her mouth and shook her head.

"The poor sod vomited most of the plane ride." England shook his head as well. "He hasn't been himself since he's caught this bug. Make sure he gets plenty of rest." He patted Virginia on the head with a heavy hand. "And don't call me Artie, Virginia."

"Where are you going?" Canada asked, panic rising in his voice.

"I can't just stay here, Alfred. I have business to attend to," said England.

"But-"

"I'll call tonight to see how you feel," he said. England walked backwards towards the double doors and gave a stern, hard look. "Do you understand, Alfred?"

"No, I don't!" Canada took a step forward. "You can't just leave me like this!"

England broke into a sprint as soon as the double doors opened behind him. Canada shouted something from behind him, but England was too concerned with navigating the thick crowd of travelers to hear what he said. No more than thirty seconds later, the footsteps and shouts became inaudible among the stampede of people. England stole a glance over his shoulder and, sure enough, Canada vanished into the crowd. He smiled; no one seemed to take notice of him running-

He looked ahead just in time to see a set of suitcases piled just as England's foot caught underneath the first suitcase. He swung his arms out and stamped his feet forward to catch himself in a dance known well to those who narrowly avoid tripping. James Bond he was not.

* * *

><p>Nope, not gonna write any excuses. I could offer a handful, but no one wants to hear those, anyways lol. I'll just say I've learned my lesson about posting a new story at the beginning of the school year. And this chapter was so incredibly difficult to write, but that's good news because the next chapter should be easier, I think.<p>

Thank you so much for all of the reviews and alerts and whatnot 8) Hopefully chapter 4 doesn't take another month to write...


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